Sad Inflections

Usually, I never attempt to capture anything overtly “real” in my journal entries. It’s always been about the escape for me. Outside those pages, I live out the kind of life that would make any pious monk seem like Robert Kennedy on two hits of ecstacy. My every day is as clockwork as Wilfred Brimley bowls after a Metamusil shake.

The one thing I thrive on is disciplined structure:

• Wake up
• Feed cat
• Smoke bowl
• Spank one out
• Shit, Shower, and trudge off to work
• Stare mindless at computer monitor for 8 ½ hours
• Return home
• Feed cat
• Smoke bowl
• Spank one out
• Go to bed
• Repeat

There is no deviating from the set path!

It's not much of a life, but it pays the utility bills, keeps a roof over my head, and provides for my spoiled cat's appetite of primo Kitty Kibble and ‘Yum-Yum Treats’. Perhaps I can now see why my journal entries (many of which are posted either here, or in my other blog) are becoming increasingly bizarre and perversely fantastical…at the very least, more embittered.

Without regular cerebral stimulation, my brain begins to liquify. The only change to my routine that I have experienced in the past few years working here in Corporate Hell, is the girth that I carry around in my ass. I swear that I am growing proportionately with each and every additional program I work at this particular call center.

In the future when I expire off this mortal world, they will be able to shave a section off my ass so that future scientists will be able to identify by the layered rings of ass fat how many successive programs I have worked over the span of my pathetic miserable life.